


Merry Hogswatch to All (And to All a Good Night)

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-15
Updated: 2003-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1636268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Sociofemme</p>
    </blockquote>





	Merry Hogswatch to All (And to All a Good Night)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sociofemme

 

 

Hogswatchnight in Ankh-Morpork was a time of celebration; a time for families coming together and sharing the spirit of the season. 

It was also a time of greatly increased crime rates, but most people overlooked that. It wouldn't look as nice on a greetings card. 

"Seven Hogfathers?" Angua sighed. 

Detritus prodded the nearest Hogfather, who hastily shuffled to one side. When a troll is poking you it pays to politely move out of the way. "Dat right," he rumbled. "Dis is the lot we picked up already. Cap'n Carrot said as dere might be more of dem." 

She looked along the row of pathetic-looking burglars. The Thieves' Guild knew better than to disturb the Watch's Hogswatch piss-up. This lot were unlicensed. Probably they'd all thought what a clever idea they'd had - why not dress up as a jolly fat old man, sneak into a house or two and, say, relieve the occupant family of a few spare presents that nobody would miss? Nobody else would ever think of _that_. 

"Fingers Jimmy," she said severely. "You're not even in a real costume." 

He hung his head. "Gotta beard," he muttered, shamed. "S'held on with string." 

Angua shook her head. "Throw them in the cells, Sergeant. We'll turn them over to the Guild in the morning." 

There was a chorus of protests. She ignored them, striding back to the party as Detritus stomped downstairs, herding the bushel of Hogfathers before him ("watch der step, Mr. Fingers, wouldn't want ter see you fall after robbin' dat orphanage. Oh, look what he gone an' done"). 

It was a good party, she had to admit. Food was being consumed. Drink was being quaffed. Constable Downspout, for reasons probably best known to gargoyles, was pouring gravy into his ear. There had been enough money in the kitty for free booze and a slap-up spread from Mundane Meals, and almost every member of the Watch had turned up. Well, Carrot was off distributing the fund money to the widows and orphans of former Watchmen, and Nobby and Corporal Visit had been called out to some disturbance at Vernon Crumley's shop, and Fred Colon and Commander Vimes... 

...had put in a brief appearance at the start of the evening and then disappeared (in Fred's case, looking like he'd much rather stay where he was, maybe with the addition of a large mug of Winkles' Old Peculiar). Angua remembered, suddenly, that unlikely as it seemed, Vimes and Colon actually had something in common. 

They were both married. Unlike everyone else, most of whom were now well on their way to singing loud songs and doing really _hilarious_ things with the poppadoms (1), they had families to be with on Hogswatch. 

Maybe, she decided, she should go outside. Get some fresh air. And if she happened to catch Carrot's scent, well, maybe he could use an extra pair of hands to deliver the money. 

Something tugged at her waistband. She looked around, then adjusted her worldview downwards. 

"Psst," Cheery said. 

"Yes, I think you might be," Angua said, looking at the way she was swaying. It made her earrings, which were shaped like boars, swing from side to side. The effect was nearly hypnotic. 

"I have a secret," Cheery said, very loudly. 

Angua detached her hands from around her belt. "Yes, we know. Everybody knows. I think if they didn't, the dress and the lipstick might be a bit of a clue." 

"Nooooo," she insisted. "Not the secret about being a, a, a female," she said this with a certain amount of pride, "a present secret. Come on." 

Angua looked at the nearby door, then followed the dwarf. It was Hogswatch, after all. She was entitled to a little bit of fun.   
 

* * *

  


She had been laughing for a long time. She would stop, but she couldn't quite remember how, and whatever it was she was laughing at had been so very, very, very, very funny. 

"You said this was apple juice," she enunciated carefully. Her tongue had become too big for her mouth. 

Cheery dropped the short distance onto the floor, giggling. "S'Scumble," she said. "I have a thing. A nuncle. In Copperhead. He fixed a witch for a broomstick and she gave him a barrel. A whole barrel!" She collapsed backwards, legs in the air. "But shhhh," she cautioned seriously. "Can't share it. `Cept with really special friends." 

Angua was quite drunk. It was, she was finding, a lot of fun. Even her inner wolf was rolling on its back and waiting for its tummy to be tickled. 

She crouched on the floor. They were hiding out in the tiny room that was technically Cheery's lab, and that was actually the old privy. It was cramped and it smelled like wee and sulphur, but on the positive side it was cramped and it smelled like wee and sulphur, so nobody was likely to come looking for them. And that meant nobody stealing the precious Scumble. She clutched the bottle protectively to her chest. 

At some point they'd both put on their helmets. She couldn't quite remember why. She frowned and squinted at the four Cheerys on the ground. 

"You've got all stuff on your hat." 

"Snow," the Cheerys said. "Not real snow. `Cause it'd melt. Snow inna bottle. I made it." 

She tried to frown, but thought better of it. Better not risk her face falling off. "Dunno why people would want snow in a bottle. Not when it's free from the sky." 

"Angua," Cheery said, struggling to sit up, "Angua, you're lovely." 

She batted away the compliment, nearly taking off her own nose. 

"You are," she went on, emotionally. "You're a lovely lovely person and I don't mind any more that you're a werewolf and I don't wear silver or anything." She blinked. "We're just like fa... fa..." 

"Farmers?" 

"Family," she finished triumphantly. 

Angua didn't often get the urge to give people big sloppy hugs. Not what you'd call frequently. A combination of inexperience, the alcohol and the lack of room in which to maneuver left her sprawled practically on top of Cheery. They both giggled. 

"And you are nice as well, Little Cherrybottom," she slurred. 

"Can I touch your b'huk'marzuk?" Cheery asked. 

Angua, who had been taking another drink, snorted with laughter. It made her cough. "Yes!" she said giddily. "Why not? Because we're friends and you're nice and that might be good." Yes, she thought. Good. Well, Carrot was a dwarf, wasn't he? By adoption, at least, and he still thought like a dwarf sometimes. He probably wouldn't even mind. 

She watched in anticipation as Cheery extended her hand, and was a mite disappointed to see her friend feel the sleeve of her shirt. 

"It's nice. Is it silk?" 

"Comes from worm's bums," she mumbled. 

They were quiet. Every so often one of them would nudge against the bench and the glassware would clatter. 

"Angua?" 

"Nyuh?" 

"Is it okay if I put my hand on your kr'z-ktl?" 

She tried to remember the dwarfish that Carrot had tried to teach her. Kr'z-ktl was either `hair' or `leather bag containing dwarf bread and small mining implements'. She opted for the first. "All right." 

It didn't mean hair. 

"Oh. Oh! Ohhhhhhhh..."   
 

* * *

  


Mornings after scumble drinking sessions tend to be like trying to wade through treacle in concrete stilettos. 

Cheery woke up slowly. She was quite surprised to discover that she was clutching a Watchman's helmet. (2) 

Some time later, after detailed forensic analysis with top of the line optical equipment, her brain processed that the helmet was Angua's, and that it was still attached to her head. Further tests concluded that yes, she was quite naked and yes, so was Cheery herself. 

"..." Cheery said. 

The laws of narrative continuity being what they are, that was the precise moment when Nobby came in looking for contributions to the tea kitty. 

**END**

**FOOTNOTES:**

(1) Commander Vimes was completely unsurprised the next day to find several pictures of backsides on his desk. He had to have a quiet word with Nobby regarding the iconograph imps demanding danger money. 

(2) Whenever a serious bender occurs, at least one drunken party must wake up clutching a policewoman's helmet. This occurs everywhere in the multiverse. On Thetcilon Marcila VIII, mile-long globular organisms regularly rouse from hibernation to find themselves tucked up with the egg-sac of one of the Primary Lawgivers, whereupon they utter the ancient cry of "what the k'r'hztntz was I drinking last solar cycle?" 

 


End file.
